


Storytelling

by RogueTranslator



Series: 15x20 Didn't Happen. This is What Happens Next. [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Andrew Dabb, Archangel Castiel (Supernatural), Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon LGBTQ Male Character, Canon Universe, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Crack Treated Seriously, Curses, Dean Winchester Lives, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Death is not peace, Episode: s04e22 Lucifer Rising, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Light Angst, Live by the writer inserts die by the writer inserts, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Metafiction, Or free will, Or happiness, Resurrection, Romance, Sam Winchester Knows, Satire, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 15, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: Immediately after his ascension, Jack resurrects his father from the Empty and stitches him up better than new. Castiel is elated that Jack has created the future he knew he would; what he’s less enthusiastic about is his son’s philosophy of nonintervention on Earth. Especially since Dean is in danger.Luckily, a story about their past together is enough to bring Jack around. After Castiel returns to Earth and delivers swift justice to those who would harm his beloved, he returns to the bunker with the brothers. There, he tells Dean the same story he told Jack, and realizes in the telling that it means even more than he knew.
Relationships: Background Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: 15x20 Didn't Happen. This is What Happens Next. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031529
Comments: 41
Kudos: 255





	Storytelling

The first thing Castiel saw when he opened his eyes was green.

It was a lush, dew-kissed green, and it was in motion. In some spots it was lighter than in others, letting the sun through. It shivered in the gentle breeze.

As his vision adjusted to anything that wasn’t pure black, he saw some slivers of crystal blue, then of white like powdered sugar. The sky.

He knew this place well. It was the garden of Heaven.

“Cass? Father?”

Castiel breathed and swallowed. He moved his neck just enough to see the source of the voice. Jack was squatting in the grass beside him. His hands were resting on Castiel’s chest, which Castiel only felt upon seeing them. There was a tear on one of his cheeks.

“Jack,” Castiel whispered.

“You’re awake.” Jack kneeled forward and patted his hands over Castiel’s shoulders, face, neck, arms.

“What’s happening?”

“I pulled you out of the Empty.” Jack’s eyes glowed; Castiel felt a warm tingling at the base of his wings. “But I didn’t wake you up immediately. I’ve been healing you.”

“Healing me?”

“It didn’t want to let you go. It knew I was coming, so it tried to damage you as much as it could before I extracted you.”

Castiel blinked. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“Eventually. You’ll remember when you’re stronger. I didn’t want you to have to deal with those memories until you’ve recovered fully.”

Castiel took a deep breath.

“Jack, what happened? Why are we in Heaven? Where are Sam and Dean?”

“They’re on Earth still. We’re here because….” Jack sat back. “Because we won. We defeated Chuck, and I’m God now.”

Castiel looked at him for a long time. Finally, he smiled.

“You are. I can tell. This is what I saw, you know, when you saved your mother and me from Dagon. This moment.” Castiel pushed himself up by his elbows. “I’m so proud of you, Jack.”

“Don’t sit up yet.” Jack frowned. “You still need to rest.”

“I’ve felt worse.” Castiel winced, then lay back down. “Actually, you’re right. I wouldn’t mind a little more time to recover. Why don’t you tell me everything that happened?”

Jack recounted the story of their victory over Chuck and his own apotheosis. He described the lay of the universe: the other realms and realities restored, with none there the wiser; the ideas he had for Heaven and the angels; the state of the world below, the one they both loved. He told Castiel that he’d made him into his first and only archangel; that way, he’d be okay even if something happened to cut him off from Jack or Heaven.

“And the Winchesters? How are they?”

“They’re—” Jack looked away; he played with a fallen leaf beside his knee. “They’re okay.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go see them. They’ll be happy I’m back.”

With a sudden burst of energy, Castiel scrambled to his feet. He swayed, but Jack caught him.

“Cass,” Jack chided.

“I’m fine.” Castiel pressed his lips together. He was already feeling nervous. “Did—did Dean say anything about me?”

“That you saved him from Death. That the Empty took you. We didn’t have much time to talk between that and going up against Chuck.”

“I see.”

“So…I guess you told him, then?”

Castiel turned to him. Jack smiled and squeezed his arm.

“I did.”

“That was brave of you. And not just because of the Empty.”

“Was I brave?” Castiel eased himself out of Jack’s grip and took halting steps around the dappled glade. “I doubt I ever would have told him if it hadn’t been to save his life. And if I’d known that I’d have to face him again.”

Jack was silent. Castiel reached the edge of the clearing and turned back.

“It’s funny. I’ve stared down God, Death, the Empty…and yet I’ve never felt as scared as I am right now. At the thought of seeing Dean. Hearing what he has to say.”

“He prayed to me,” Jack said, after a beat. “Only once. Asking me to bring you back. He resented doing it, I could tell.”

“Why? Is he still angry with you?”

Jack shook his head. “Maybe a little, but I think it’s because he doesn’t like praying to anyone but you. He’s been praying to you every night.”

“You shouldn’t listen to that,” Castiel scolded. “It’s private.”

“I don’t mean to. But…I’m still figuring out how to ignore things. Omniscience is hard to get used to. Anyway, my point is that he wouldn’t have done all that if he didn’t want to see you again.”

“Maybe you’re right. I suppose I should go down there now.”

Jack chewed his lip.

“What?”

“I’d prefer for you to wait until he gets here.”

“Until he dies, you mean? You expect me to wait that long?”

Jack hesitated. “I told the angels that we’re not going to intervene in earthly affairs anymore. I’d look like a hypocrite if the only exception were my own father.”

“But I just want to see Dean. And Sam. How’s that intervening in earthly affairs?”

Jack chewed his lip again.

“They’re in trouble, aren’t they? But you don’t want to help them.”

“Yes,” Jack admitted. “The fell witch Bard Benwad inserted a cursed object into their possession before you died. They’ve been controlled by it ever since.”

“I know this witch.” Castiel paced. “He’s powerful. Ancient. Obsessed with undermining those seen by others as heroes, then killing them.”

Jack nodded. “I didn’t know he’d infiltrated the bunker until after I became God. But I’d already made my promise to not intercede by then. To the Winchesters themselves, no less.”

“You’ve known about this since then and done nothing? Not even warned them?” Castiel shook his wings, daring Jack to stop him. “How long ago was that? How long do they have left?”

“A week or so. And Dean will die within the hour.”

“No,” Castiel seethed. “No, he will not. He doesn’t deserve that. This isn’t what I sacrificed for.”

“Father, I don’t want us to be involving ourselves in affairs on Earth all the time. How will anyone have free will if we do?”

“So, what? We just let evil run rampant? What defense do normal humans have against a fiend like Bard Benwad?”

“It may be the price of freedom. Every time we insert ourselves, we create all sorts of unintended consequences.”

“Sam and Dean are an exception to that.”

Jack crossed his arms. “Father. Stop being unreasonable.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. They’re our family!”

“And when they die, they’ll join us here in Paradise. No more doubt. No more suffering. Just peace and joy and fulfilment for eternity.”

“They deserve that on Earth, too,” Castiel said. “After everything they’ve given to the world, they deserve that.”

Jack rubbed his forehead. “Your love for Dean is your blind spot, Cass. You can’t stand the thought of him being hurt in any way. But you’re not thinking rationally. He’ll be happier here than he ever was on Earth. You know how much of a struggle his life has been. He’s known so little happiness; so much pain. This is the best way.”

Castiel approached Jack.

“Jack, I know you think you’re doing the right thing. But let me tell you a story.”

He took him by the hand, and, after an insistent nudge, they started up the garden path.

“Dean told me something once. We hadn’t known each other very long. I was still part of the Host then, still under the illusion that my only purpose was to be one of Heaven’s good little soldiers.”

Jack looked up at him. “It’s hard to imagine you like that.”

“It was a long time ago. I was already falling in love with Dean, though I hadn’t _fallen_ for him yet. But—” Castiel ducked to avoid the branches of the quince trees overhead. “In the last seconds before the apocalypse, he said things to me that dragged me over the edge. He spoke with so much conviction, so much love for humanity—and despite everything I’d been taught, I chose him. And I chose the world.”

“So, you’ve always let Dean talk you into anything,” Jack said, equal parts sullen and teasing.

Castiel smiled fondly. “He’s my strength and my weakness.”

They reached a wooden bridge over a stream. Castiel stopped them at the midpoint, where the burbling of the water was the loudest.

“What did he say?” Jack said.

“He opened my eyes to what was real.” Castiel gazed out at the rolling hills of wildflowers, the little pavilion in the distance crowned with roses. “‘People, families,’ in his words.”

“He can have those here.”

“I told him that in paradise, all is forgiven,” Castiel said, undeterred. “That he’d be at peace. Do you know what he said?”

“He must have been happy to hear that.”

Castiel laughed. “Not quite. He said, ‘you can take your peace and shove it up your lily-white ass.’”

“Actually, that does sound like him.”

“The pain, the guilt—Sam addicted to demon blood, as he was at the time—according to him, all of that was better than being ‘some Stepford bitch in paradise.’” Castiel swept his arm across the horizon. “All of this? It didn’t hold a candle to life, even the horrible life he’d lived. Because it wasn’t real.”

Some seconds passed while Jack seemed to ponder this.

“What happened next?” he finally said.

“Well, a few minutes later, I made the decision to rebel against Heaven. To follow Dean wherever he led. To love and protect him always. And I’ve never looked back. We’re all free because I made that choice. The world exists because I made that choice. We’re a family because I made that choice.” Castiel brushed some of Jack’s stray hairs back into place. “Do you see now why this wouldn’t be fair to Dean?”

Jack sighed.

“If you want to save Dean, go ahead. I’d never hold you here against your will. I just hoped that you’d consider my way. All the fighting and killing and loss—he could finally be free of it. So could you.”

“He could decide to be free of it on Earth,” Castiel said. “Knowing that I’m alive—that would help. He’s never coped with my absence well.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jack pressed his finger to Castiel’s temple, transferring his knowledge of Sam and Dean’s predicament into his mind. “You should hurry. He doesn’t have much time left.”

Castiel peered down at the world below. He spread his wings.

“How strange it feels, son. To be able to fly again.”

“I love you.” Jack embraced him. “Tell Sam and Dean I said hello.”

“I will. Thank you, Jack.” Castiel kissed Jack’s forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

He descended to the planet swathed in a bolt of fire. When he reached the lower stratosphere, it left his side and streaked towards the horizon, homing in on the witch’s den halfway across the continent. Castiel hovered to witness the blast, then continued his flight.

The witch had had countermeasures against angels, of course. One didn’t survive for thousands of years without being wily. But Jack had snuffed out all the warding and charms and spells when Castiel departed. _For you and Dean_ , he had said in Castiel’s mind. _I’ll make an exception_.

Like father, like son, Castiel thought. Dean was always the exception.

He touched down, invisible and intangible, outside a decrepit barn in Ohio. The monsters within were unaware of his presence. The first thing he noticed was the odd yellowish hue to the air.

“What is this?” Castiel grumbled. “It’s like honey’s been spread over my eyeballs.”

Hopefully, before too long, he’d get rid of the habit of talking to himself. One tended to do that after a stretch in the Empty since there was no other company there. Right now, though, the more pressing problem was the goldenrod filter over everything. It was the witch’s doing, Castiel assumed, though why he could not say.

He snapped his fingers, and the world returned to its normal colors. Castiel smiled at the bees droning in the grass at his feet.

“I could get used to this.”

The Winchesters hadn’t arrived yet, so Castiel paced from the grass to the gravel, then back again. He spent the minutes thinking about what he’d say to Dean—the first words, then the ones after the curse was broken, then the ones when they returned to the bunker. It was better than worrying about what Dean would say to him.

The sound of a car pulling up, crunching the gravel beneath its tires, roused him from his meditations. His heart and his grace both soared at the sight of Dean behind the wheel. He never understood how it was that, after existing for hundreds of millions of years, a few weeks away from Dean could feel to him like eons.

Castiel waited for the Impala to come to a complete stop, for the engine to go quiet, for the brothers to get out and look around. He walked up to the front bumper and revealed himself.

“Hello, Dean.” He turned to Sam. “Hello, Sam.”

Dean’s eyes widened; his bottom lip fell open.

“Cass?”

“Oh my God,” Sam murmured. “Cass, is that really you?”

He beamed at both of them. Dean began a cautious approach, his hands vibrating with hope, but Castiel stepped back before he could reach him.

“It’s really me. Jack resurrected me from the Empty; I only just regained consciousness an hour ago. But we don’t have time for reunions just yet.”

Dean frowned. “What does that mean? What’s wrong?”

“You’re in terrible danger, Dean.” Castiel strode to the Impala’s trunk. “Open this.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

“We don’t have much time. Please trust me.”

“Okay,” Dean replied, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “Okay, Cass. Of course we trust you.”

Dean sauntered over, giving him that familiar stare that communicated both his unswerving loyalty and his habitual worry. Castiel loved him for both.

“Alright, so.” Dean popped the trunk and moved aside. “What do we need?”

“It’s more what we don’t need,” Castiel muttered. He began rooting through the bags, the weapon compartments, the hidden pockets. “There are things in here that wish to do you harm. Cursed objects.”

“What?” Sam leaned over the side of the trunk. “Cass, why don’t you just stop and tell us what’s going on? Maybe we can help you look.”

“I found one.” Castiel withdrew his hand from one of Sam’s bags, pinching the frumpy gray mass of hair between his thumb and index finger. He dangled it between the brothers. “This.”

“That’s—uh.” Sam fidgeted. “It’s a wig.”

“I can see that.”

“Our contact said to have it on hand,” Dean explained. “He said we might have to age ourselves up for a disguise.”

“This rat’s nest wouldn’t fool anyone.”

“Well, Sam got a pair of glasses to go with it,” Dean said sheepishly.

Castiel flung the tatty weave into the gravel. With a wave of his fingers, it disintegrated into ash.

“Hey!” Sam yelped. “We might still need that!”

“You won’t.” Castiel continued rooting through the Impala’s trunk. “That contact who tipped you off to this case? He’s not a hunter.”

“What?” they said in unison.

“He’s an ancient witch named Bard Benwad. He enjoys sending righteous people to their deaths in ironic ways, depriving those who love them of their presence. Been doing it since the time of Sumer.” Castiel lifted the pair of plastic-rimmed hipster glasses. “You really thought this would make you look older?”

“Well, I….” Sam looked down in evident shame. “It’s the best I could do.”

Castiel tossed the spectacles over his shoulder. They exploded into dust before hitting the ground.

“Ah!” Dean cringed away from the blast. “Cass, buddy, slow down. You just got back; take a breather.”

“I barely got here in time as it is. That barn was going to be your death.”

“Mine?”

“Wait, vamps?” Sam glanced at Dean. “We were going to die to vamps?”

“Not you. Just Dean.”

Dean sputtered, then went silent. He leaned against the side of the Impala, looked up at the barn, stared down at his feet. He seemed to accept the truth of Castiel’s words, no matter how unlikely they’d seemed at first.

“As I thought.” Castiel yanked a tightly folded sheet of paper from the lining of one of Dean’s bags. “A cursed script. Bard Benwad’s calling card. He secrets one into the belongings of his victims, forcing them to act out his warped fantasies.”

“What?” Sam’s eyes bulged. “How’d he manage to do that? He’d have to get into the bunker.”

“It wouldn’t have been hard for him. He’s one of the oldest and most powerful witches on Earth.” Castiel smiled. “Well, was. I smote him on my way down here.”

“Uh….” Dean licked his lips. “Just like that? A milk run?”

“I’m an archangel now, Dean. All it took was a thought.”

“Archangel?” Sam echoed. “I didn’t know Jack could do that.”

“Wow.” Dean’s eyes traveled down Castiel’s body, then quickly darted back up. “Shiny and improved, huh? That’s pretty sexy.”

“What’s the script say?” Sam said, sounding nauseated.

Castiel sat down on the lip of the trunk and scanned it. The brothers peered over his shoulders.

“It’s mostly things you’ve already done. It looks like it starts right after—” he looked down. “After I’m taken by the Empty.”

“That long?” Sam paced in short bursts, gesturing with his right hand as he did when he thought out loud. “So, not only have we not been free, but this guy’s been writing for us since even before we beat Chuck?”

“It would appear so. All the spellwork was done before the rapture, so it would have persisted straight through. Would you like to hear what comes next?”

“Hold on. Cass, this is all really—uh, a lot to process. But there’re still people in there.” Dean pointed over his shoulder at the dilapidated barn. “Not to mention vamps to take care of. Whether this witch set it all up or not, we can’t just sit around while lives are on the line.”

“Of course. You’re completely right, Dean. I got sidetracked.”

Castiel snapped his fingers.

“The innocents have been returned to their next of kin. Now, close your eyes and plug your ears.”

Once Sam and Dean complied, he snapped his fingers again. There was a piercing whine, a flash of heavenly light, a deafening boom. A shockwave rattled the car and sent the brothers staggering away from it.

“It’s taken care of.” Castiel raised the script again. “You can open your eyes now.”

“What—” Sam peered over the Impala’s hood, his hand shielding his eyes from the dust that lingered in the air. “You incinerated that entire barn?”

“And everything within. It offended me.”

“Damn, Cass.” Dean scratched his cheek. “Remind me to never make you angry.”

“You’ve made me angry many times. And yet I never hesitate to lay down my life for you.” Castiel handed the script to Sam, but his eyes remained focused on Dean. “What offended me about that barn is what Bard Benwad had planned for you. Maybe smiting it with a pillar of celestial fury was—”

“Overkill?” Dean suggested.

“Maybe. But the thought of anything hurting you….”

Dean swallowed. He sat down beside Castiel and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Cass. For—not just for that, but.” Dean took a deep breath.

“Let’s talk about it later.”

Dean nodded. He swallowed again.

“Guys, this is awful.” Sam resumed pacing, holding the script out in front of him like a particularly smelly sock that had missed the hamper. “Dean, you die from being knocked into a metal spike.”

“I what?”

“And I don’t call for help, human or supernatural. Who knows why. No one comes to your funeral; I guess we have no friends now. You get to Heaven and spend decades driving your car around by yourself. Cass is…somewhere upstairs, but you guys don’t really ever see each other.”

“This guy’s a writer?” Dean said incredulously.

Castiel shrugged. “Chuck and Metatron considered themselves good writers. Perhaps the occupation attracts people predisposed to petty grudges and delusions of grandeur.”

“Huh.” Dean looked at Sam. “What about you?”

“Uh.” Sam furrowed his brow. “I leave the life, get married. But to a woman whose face I can never see.”

“What does that mean?” Dean said.

Sam waved the sheet of paper. “That’s all it says. How should I know?”

“I suppose it means that the woman herself isn’t very important,” Castiel said. “To Bard Benwad, I mean.”

“I have a son; I name him Dean. And then I’m miserable for the rest of my life and die. We see each other in Heaven, where you’re still driving around alone after forty years or so. Who knows where Cass and Jack or anyone else are. You want to see it?”

Dean glared at Sam’s hand as if he were offering him a contagious disease.

“Okay. Just asking.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Castiel snatched the script from Sam’s hand. “Anyone want to say any words before we send this into oblivion?”

Sam thinned his lips. He glanced at Dean.

“Sure, I’ll say something.” Dean stretched his arm around Castiel’s back and rubbed his shoulder. “Welcome home, Cass. You were gone too damn long.”

Purifying flames engulfed the cursed slip of paper, and it dispersed in the warm summer breeze. Dean started humming “Dust in the Wind.”

“Well, I guess—” Sam turned to Castiel. “Now that the mortal danger’s over with, can we welcome you back properly?”

Castiel grinned. Before he’d even fully stood, Sam was manhandling him into a bear hug.

“I knew you’d be back, Cass,” Sam said. “I knew that Jack—and Dean’s been praying—”

“How’d you know I’ve been praying?” Dean blurted.

“I heard you in your room the other day. Besides, it was pretty obvious that you weren’t as okay with Cass being gone as you were letting on. That just isn’t you, Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean clenched his jaw. “Damn witches. I should’ve known something was up with us. Sam, stop hogging the angel.”

“Sorry.” Sam finally released Castiel. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Dean really must have been euphoric to see Castiel again, because he didn’t even scowl at that. He fell into Castiel’s arms, letting him carry his weight for a little while. He dug his chin into the crook of Castiel’s neck and grasped at the loose folds of his trench coat.

“Thank you, Cass.” He sniffed. “Thank you for coming back to us. To me.”

“Well, you should really thank Jack.” Castiel rubbed his back. “He says hello, by the way.”

Dean chuckled as he released him. “With the whole hand thing, I bet.”

“Yes.” Castiel smiled. “He didn’t think I should intervene here, but…well, I told him a story. About you, and me, and the world.”

“Yeah? Which one?”

Dean’s eyes shone—with relief, with tears, with the boundless love he always kept hidden away, thinking he had no right to it. If only he could see that it was his love that made him who he was, not his fear. That he’d given everything for this world and deserved just as much in return.

But then, that was why he had Castiel. To say this to him, again and again, until he finally believed it.

“I’ll tell you later,” Castiel said, with a squeeze to Dean’s shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

“You adopted a dog?”

Dean laughed. He’d already handed Castiel a beer and was popping open his.

“He’s the one who adopted us, it feels like. We found him at a gas station a few days after losing you.”

“But I thought Chuck—”

“The one thing he missed.” Dean sat across from him, and they clinked the necks of their bottles together. “Well, he nabbed him too a few minutes later, but it all worked out in the end.”

Castiel reached out to stroke one of Miracle’s floppy ears. He licked at Castiel’s wrist.

“And now _you’re_ back,” Dean said, his expression pensive. “The last big win I needed. I almost feel like I should pinch myself.”

Castiel gave a small laugh. Dean’s eyes crinkled as he sipped more of his beer.

“How have you been, Dean?”

“You know me.” Dean looked down at the kitchen table. “Same old, same old.”

Castiel glanced at Miracle again. He was nosing into his hand for more attention.

“Actually, that’s not true.” Dean spun his bottle on the wood. “I did some stuff that didn’t make sense over the last couple weeks. Bad Newbard—”

“Bard Benwad.”

“Yeah. I did a few weird things because of him. Like not doing more to bring you back. I guess he knew that if you were around, none of the rest of his plan would work out.”

“Well, he was right about that.”

“I’m sorry, Cass.” Dean shook his head. “You know I’d—I’d give anything—”

“It’s okay.” Castiel scratched under Miracle’s chin. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah. Still.” Dean tipped his bottle to his lips. “I did do some stuff of my own volition, though. At least, I think so.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“I applied to a few classes at the community college. Nothing too exciting, but—I figure, with so little left to hunt out there, I need to have something to keep me busy.”

“What sort of classes?”

“A couple. A Spanish course for beginners and—” Dean gestured to the pantry; he almost looked bashful. “A culinary arts course. I thought I might try to learn more about cooking.”

Castiel smiled. “You do like cooking.”

“And eating.” Dean slid his bottle from hand to hand. “You want to be one of my guinea pigs?”

“I’d like that.”

There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway. A few seconds later, Sam entered the kitchen in fluorescent blue shorts and a form-fitting shirt.

“I thought I’d take Miracle on a jog.” He went to the sink and filled a glass of water. “Anyone want to join?”

Castiel and Dean exchanged a glance.

“We’ll stay here,” Dean said. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Sam spat out his water. Luckily, he was still standing over the sink.

“Are you okay, Sam?” Castiel said.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Sam wiped his face. “Come on, Miracle. Want to go on a walk? Yeah, I bet. We can get out of here. Leave these guys alone to—”

Dean’s glare stopped Sam’s babbling in its tracks.

“Uh. Okay. We’ll be back in an hour or so.” Sam clipped the leash to Miracle’s collar and strolled to the hallway.

“Hold up,” Dean said. “Is Eileen still coming for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just figuring out how much food I need to make.” Dean waved him off. “Have a good run. Try not to get hit by any cars.”

They didn’t speak until the bunker’s front door echoed shut. Dean finished off his beer and rolled the empty bottle between his palms, staring into Castiel’s eyes.

“So.”

“Yeah,” Castiel replied.

“Now’s the time I’d usually grab another beer.” Dean picked at the bottle’s label. “I decided I’d try to cut back a little, though.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows again.

“I just…figure I don’t need it as much now.” Dean shuddered; he turned away and squinted his eyes shut. “Especially now that you’re back, Cass.”

Castiel reached across the table and placed his hand over Dean’s. After a moment, Dean flicked his wrist so that their palms met and wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s thumb.

“Damn Jack,” Dean grunted. He rubbed his flannel shirtsleeve over his eyes. “He could’ve brought you back sooner.”

“He did his best.” Castiel squeezed his hand. “So did you.”

Dean shrugged. He still feared praise, this man who’d saved the world countless times over. But now that Castiel was back, he’d make sure Dean heard it every day. He'd learn to accept it eventually.

“That story I told Jack,” Castiel said.

“The one about us?”

“Yes. I was telling him about our first apocalypse.”

Dean snorted. “The romance. Some people go to a nice restaurant; we tangle with Armageddon every eight months or so.”

“Well. I’m not sure how you felt at the time, but I was already feeling emotions. For you.”

“That’s why they dragged you away to Bible camp, right?” Dean looked down at their joined hands and moved his tongue between his lips. “Guess that conversion therapy never took.”

Castiel shook his head. “No. Though we did have a close call. In the ‘Green Room’—what Zachariah called it.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean smirked. “Good old Zachariah. Man, that guy was a galactic-level douche.”

“Yes. That day came to mind as I was talking to Jack. We were…arguing. He thought it was best to let you die to the witch.”

“What?”

“Not out of malice. He thought that you’d suffered enough in your life. That you’d only have peace when you were done. In Paradise.”

Dean gaped at Castiel in disbelief.

“That’s cold. I know I wasn’t always nice to the kid, but….”

“Heaven’s changing, Dean. It’s not just memories now—people can be together. It’s better than before. Yet—” Castiel stroked Dean’s wrist with his fingertips. “I remembered what you said that day. The day I chose to fall.”

“I think I told you to go screw yourself.”

“‘You can take your peace and shove it up your lily-white ass’ were your exact words.”

Dean laughed. “Is that when you knew you loved me?”

“I suppose that was the clincher,” Castiel said, grinning back at him.

Dean blinked. It looked for a second like he was about to cry again. Instead, he brought his other hand forward and rested it over Castiel’s.

“I told—I told Jack. I told him that you said the pain, the guilt, Sam as he was at the time—you'd take that over Paradise. Over peace. The world in all its imperfection.”

“Because it was real,” Dean murmured. His eyes were faraway, reliving the memory with Castiel.

Castiel nodded. Tears were slipping from his eyes, and he paused to wipe them away with his free hand before continuing.

“And I told him. I said that I chose the world as it was—over Heaven, over Paradise—because of you. That everything we have now—our family, free will, a world that’s so much better than the one you were born into—that it’s all because of you. Because I loved you, and you changed me.”

Dean let out a long, shaky breath. He squeezed Castiel’s hand.

“Cass,” he whispered.

“Which is why I knew you’d want to live. Why you needed to live.” Castiel smiled. “You deserve the world, Dean. You deserve everything.”

Dean closed his eyes and hung his head. For a moment, Castiel thought that he was preparing to contradict him, to dismiss his praise as always. He was dismayed, but all there was to do was keep trying.

Then, Dean pulled Castiel’s hand towards him at the same time as he leaned over the table, and they kissed.

It was a soft, slow kiss, one with a pause for a breath after every touch of their lips. Their tears slid together, and Dean brought his hands to Castiel’s cheeks to wipe them away. He held Castiel’s face in his hands even after the kiss was over.

“I love you too, Cass.”

Dean’s hands were trembling, yet he was smiling in a way Castiel had never seen before. Even now, he was still surprising him—just when Castiel thought he’d seen all the ways Dean expressed his love, he showed him another one.

“I love you,” he repeated, as if making sure Castiel had heard him. “For saving me, choosing me, loving me—” Dean stroked his thumb along Castiel’s cheekbone. “Thank you.”

Castiel brought his hand up and fitted his fingers over Dean’s. He beamed back at him.

“You know,” Castiel said. “We’re the reason, you and I. The reason this world was different. Why Chuck couldn’t control us; why the witch failed. Our love was never supposed to be part of their story. But now I realize—we were the story all along. The real story.”

Dean bent across the table and kissed him again, over and over. He said his next words in the pauses in between.

“I can’t think of a better one.”


End file.
